Hello! So, I have written another poem! This is again from Buttercup's point of view. Please leave a review telling me what you think as I've worked very hard on this!
I own nothing but the poem.
Hero? Or Villan?
Determined by my decision to save the world or the decision to save myself?
Determined by the amount of pressure put on me or the amount that I submit to?
Determined by the anger that I release or the anger I hold in?
Determined by how I treat my family or how they treat me?
Friend? Or Foe?
Determined by the realness of my smile or the fakeness of yours?
Determined by the gifts I keep or the gifts I burn?
Determined by polite gestures or intimate encounters?
Determined by my undiscovered past, my confusing present, or my unseen future?
Worthy? Or Useless?
Determined from the flaw in my plan or the entire operation?
Determined by my sister's reprimands or my father's encouragement?
Determined by the amount of people I saved or the amount that I lost?
Determined by how I see myself or how I see others?
When I look in the shattered mirror of my past, I see pain and suffering.
When I look at my present, it is fuzzy. It is as if I am driving in the rain without the wipers, blinded by the little droplets shaped. Like the tears I mark my pillow with at night.
When I look at my future, there is a bright light. Almost like death, but this light holds promise that I have been deprived of my entire life.
I can't see where my decisions will take me but that promise keeps the pills in the cabinet and the ties in the closet and the knife in the drawer. It keeps my head on my shoulders and the weight that crushes me also makes me stronger.
The chemicals running through my veins is the ultimate drug. It keeps the adrenaline pumping for lifetimes. The side affects are physiological and the only ones that are physical are considered gifts.
Funny, because I have the desire to leave those gifts under the tree, never to be opened again.
I don't know what I am anymore. Hero, villan, friend, foe, worthy, useless.
The fine lines between these have become so blurred that the only thing that helps me is the promise of a better tomorrow. A tomorrow where the judgement stops and so do the tears.
The walls I have built will crumble in the most beautiful way, and I will be free from the public eye. My family will be as normal as we can and I will go on.
The light will set me free from this cage. Let's just hope they don't clip my wings.
Happy? Or Sad?
Determined by the cuts on the outside or on the inside?
Determined by the looks I give or the ones I receive?
Determined by the size of my smile or how often I do so?
Determined by myself, or determined by others?
Like I said at the beginning, please leave a review!
Should I post more poems?